


Jog my memory

by Koscheyyy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Tenth Doctor - Freeform, Gift Fic, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Porn With Feels, Top Master
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koscheyyy/pseuds/Koscheyyy
Summary: “You remember that night?” The Master asks as he crawls up the length of the Doctor's body, caging him in the barriers of his arms. Pinning the Doctor between him and the cotton sheets, their touch denied by the fabric of their clothes.They had disappeared down the hallway, hand in hand, from the Master’s lab. Quipping and teasing one another as they sort out a suitable surface like teenagers high on adrenaline and their own youthfulness. It had taken only minutes for the TARDIS to accommodate them, shifting the rooms around like a supportive carousel, until the Doctor was being pushed through his own bedroom door and thrown upon the bed.“Yes” the Doctor chokes out, trembling under the Master’s forceful gaze. There’s a pause. “Yes, Master i-i remember”
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	Jog my memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verayne/gifts).



> This is a gift fic inspired by the insanely brilliant Tensimm fanfiction Unspoken by Verayne. This is just a little porny snippet I wrote that can be read on its own but I highly recommend reading their fic as it is literary perfection! 
> 
> Also in this the master is usual dominating self and may be a bit pushy at times but it’s all consensual and they’re both having a happy and fun time- under all the angst. So enjoy!

“You remember that night?” The Master asks as he crawls up the length of the Doctor's body, caging him in the barriers of his arms. Pinning the Doctor between him and the cotton sheets, their touch denied by the fabric of their clothes. 

They had disappeared down the hallway, hand in hand, from the Master’s lab. Quipping and teasing one another as they sort out a suitable surface like teenagers high on adrenaline and their own youthfulness. It had taken only minutes for the TARDIS to accommodate them, shifting the rooms around like a supportive carousel, until the Doctor was being pushed through his own bedroom door and thrown upon the bed. 

“Yes” the Doctor chokes out, trembling under the Master’s forceful gaze. There’s a pause. “Yes, Master i-i remember” 

The Master sucks in a shaky breath between clenched teeth, forcing himself back under control as he gazes down at the feast spread out, squirming, just for him. The Doctor's eyes are wide and consumed fully by his dilated pupils whilst his lips tremble with the need to speak. To plead and beg. The instinctual drive to scream and Moan and preen under his Master’s touch. ‘Good’ the Master thinks as he ducks his head down to the other man’s exposed neck, breathing in his delightful scent, thinking of how he’s going to make the Doctor's Voice crack with the intensity of his pleasure. 

“Good” he murmurs low into the Doctor’s flesh, lips just ghosting over the sensitive nerves, “remind me” 

“What?” 

A hard pinch is delivered to the Doctor’s hip. A warning. The Doctor struggles against him for the smallest fraction of a moment but the Master is sure he’s got his point across. A rising tension can be felt lingering between their sandwiched bodies as the Doctor stiffens under instruction. The Master smiles as the display. He’s learning. 

“Master?” The Doctor questions timidly, licking his lips but not turning his head. Moving- especially when the Master hasn’t given him permission- will lead to worse revenges than a pinch. 

“Jog my memory” he pulls back from the Doctor’s neck, balancing on the heels of his palms planted beside the Doctor’s head and looks down upon him “if you remember it so well” tenderly he runs a finger across the Doctor’s shirt collar “then you can tell me all about it” 

The Doctor stares for a moment, lips parted and body splayed out beneath the Master. He thinks for barely a moment, Adam’s apple bobbing as the images bleed through his consciousness and filter his senses. Under a flash of vulnerability he takes in a breath and lets the words tumble from his tongue. 

“You fucked me in the garden” 

The Master is taken aback and stares for a moment- so long that the Doctor squirms minutely with the worry he got it wrong. No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have been more right if he had a diploma dedicated to all of their dirty little shags displayed above the mantle like a well earned trophy. 

“Such vulgarity” the Master tuts, enjoying the sharp intake of breath that the Doctor gives in reply “I didn’t think you had it in you” 

The Doctor waits below him, silent and helpless. His arms are stretched out beside him, fisting the sheets between fingers and thumb, trying hard to show he’s respecting the unspoken rules. No touching. No sentimentality. No orgasms. Those regulations are just for him mind as the Master glides his hand down the Doctor’s front and revelling in the rushed beat of four hammering against his palm. 

“I must have done things leading up to that moment, Doctor, or were you such a needy mess that I had to simply bend you over and bugger you, unaided, between the begonias and the lilies?” The question is directed to sting, to push at just the right points to get the Doctor to play. Quickly he runs his hand down from its resting place upon his chest towards the Doctor’s belt buckle “shall I do it again?” 

“No!” The Doctor yelps pitifully, his hand flying for the Master’s but stopping midair. Remembering the rules. The Master regards him for a moment with a sinful smirk branded across his face, hands paused upon the Doctor’s fly, feeling the bulge beneath them twitch and strain for contact. “No- no, Master you- you-“ he swallows, suddenly shy to let the words out. 

“Doctor” the Master warns with a low rumble of his throat. Below his hands the flesh flex involuntarily. “What did I do to you next?” 

“You- uh- you fingered me” he stutters, looking up to the ceiling as an embarrassed flush clouds his cheeks. 

“Through your trousers?” 

“You took my trousers off” the Doctor answers “and my pants” he adds after a moment's thought. 

“Good boy” the Doctor squirms minutely under the Master’s praise, his toes curling with bliss and fingers clenching tighter into the sheets. The Master makes quick work of the Doctor’s trousers, undoing the fly and tugging his clothes sharply down his legs before throwing them across the room. He takes only a moment to admire the view of the Doctor half naked and spread out before him, his erection pointing upward obscenely and already dribbling out a meagre stream of pre-come. What a mess. 

The Master then snaps his eyes up to the Doctor’s darkened pupils, his hazel iris’ nearly invisible as they stare back at the Master. Love drunk. Deliberately slow does the Master begin to touch the awaiting flesh before him, stroking feather light fingertips up the Doctor’s thigh, reaching just shy of the cock before dragging downwards to his bruised knees. The Doctor lets his head fall back against the pillows with bottled frustration and an impatient grunt. 

“What did I finger you with?” The Master asks quietly, eyes fixed on the pitiful half-aborted stutters of the Doctor’s hips. Amazed by the sheer impulse that drives him to push into the touch only to be stopped by the crushing weight of obedience. How good his Theta is. How respectful of the rules. How subservient to his Master’s demands. 

“Your fingers” the Doctor knows it was a mistake the moment the words crossed his lips. So much so that he doesn’t even bother to cry out in surprise as the open palm lands with a sharp crack against his thigh. Of course he can't help but gasp out of pain and jerk on impact- though his hands remain cramped by his sides. 

“I’m really not enjoying your lip today” the Master growls from his position between the Doctor’s splayed legs. Cruelly he drags his nails through the stinging patch of skin and taking pleasure in the Doctor’s ragged whine through clenched teeth. “Perhaps I should stop this- this treat- and remind you what your mouth is really for” 

“I’m sorry Master- i- i didn’t- m’sorry” the Doctor whimpers pathetically, gaze angled submissively downwards to avoid the Master’s glare. 

“Enough” he snaps, fed up with the Doctor’s grovelling. They have a memory to reconstruct and even though his mind may have been swimming in five glasses of spiked champagne he most definitely didn’t remember the Doctor begging like this- well, not before he’s even got one finger inside of him that is to say. 

The Doctor shuts up immediately, stock still and holding his breath, waiting for the Master to determine their next move. 

“Do I need to repeat my question?” The Master’s voice is like a knife through flesh as it parts the silence of the room. 

“No, Master” the Doctor answers with a rehearsed script. 

“Are you going to behave and answer me properly?” He probes deeper, feeding the glutton that is his gelatinous ego with the Doctor’s brazen submission. Gently does he begin to stroke once again up the insides of the Doctor’s thigh as a small encouragement. Feeling the tiny hairs prickle his finger tips with heightened sensitivity. 

“Yes, Master” it’s almost a gasp as the Doctor is overcome with the intensity of the fleeting touch to his skin. 

“Well?” The Master pauses, looking up at his prize expectantly. His fingers hovering just inches away from the crook of the Doctor’s hip, a hair's-width from his beloved’s straining cock. 

“You used your saliva” the Doctor reports with an odd smile to his lips, awaiting appraisal for his obedience. 

The Master of course obliges, resting his fingers down at the base of the Doctor’s erection, cruelly abating satisfaction. His other hand comes up towards his face. Flagrantly, he studies his fingers, observing their thickness and the callouses to the individual prints whilst ignoring the Doctor’s high pitched, impatient, whine. He should put an end to that really- acting so spoilt isn’t a desirable trait but he can’t help but absorb the sheer neediness of his Doctor. So greedy for his Master. The mere thought spreading a grin across his face. 

“How many fingers?” He asks after a moment, feeling the Doctor’s muscles flex feebly below his touch in a shameful attempt to get some friction to his aching flesh. 

“I-“ the Timelord pauses, memory reeling through the thick fog of arousal that has clouded him “I don’t remember” 

“Hmm?” The Master tilts his head back towards the Doctor, removing his hand from his skin in an inspired burst of cruelty. For he himself doesn’t remember either. As remarked before, they were both deep in their cups when they were kicked out of the grand hall and his ever cunning Theta had suggested breaking into the manor’s vast botanical garden- to survey the flowers. It, of course, was turned into an even greater night when the drunken bastard had fallen over on a tree root pulling Koschei down with him. They had landed sandwiched upon the dry dirt, legs akimbo and faces centimetres apart. That’s when his inebriated Theta stared up at him with those pleading eyes, spreading his legs and begging for them to fuck against the earth like mere animals. And who was he to ignore his beloved’s demands? It is, therefore, completely understandable for neither of them to remember if it was one finger or two that eased their drunken coupling over nine hundred years ago. 

“I don’t know, Master” he repeats once again, voice timid and shaking. No doubt mourning the loss of his Master’s touch. 

“This is the third time I’ve had to stop and help you- it seems as if you don’t want my attention after all-'' he starts to pull away, taking pride in the undignified gasp his Doctor gives before feeling a hand grasp at his wrist. Oh how the little Doctor needs him so much. Such a slut for his Master’s attention. 

“No Master please- I want it, please” the Doctor begs. His hand wrapped around the Master’s wrist in a moment of raw need. Showing his cards like a drunken gambler and forfeiting the game in his opponents favour. His Doctor was never good at keeping his poker face intact when the Master could dismantle it with a few choice touches and silver-tongued approval. 

Languidly does the Master turn towards his Doctor once again, not bothering to shake the man from his wrist as he takes in the sight. He looks so defiled sitting there in nothing but his shirt, erection slapping wetly upon his stomach. Visage utterly shattered under his dominance and he’s barely even touched him. Within the confines of his own clothes does he finally register the feel of his own cock throbbing with boiling desire, desperate for the delicious heat and pressure only his Doctor can accommodate for him. 

“How many fingers?” His voice is low and husky, dripping with unabashed arousal as he settles once more between the Doctor’s impossibly long legs. Taking note of how they spread just that fraction wider- as if trying to draw him closer with the subtle display of whorish consent. 

“Three?” The Doctor guesses as he reclines upon the bed. It’s an indulgent guess. Downright greedy as he lounges atop the duvet like a bored prostitute. The sight strikes a cord deep within the Master, a desperate need to smother that gluttony with overindulgence. Make him scream with his own pleasure until it crushes him. But no, not today. The Master’s blood is bubbling with the need for his own release- after all, this is for the Master’s own dark satisfaction. The Doctor is the mere martyr that has knelt before his feet, begging for forgiveness with the use of his yielding body. 

“You get two” he states, desperate to free his own trapped cock along with his composure. Laboriously, he pushes two fingers past his lips and paves them each with a thorough lick of his tongue, coating them each with his own saliva. It’s generous, he thinks as he pulls the digits from between his lips, taking pride in the Doctor’s sharp gasp, but it is supposed to be a treat. For both of them. In a way. 

Wasting little time on the courtesy of preparing his lover with tender touches and affirmations of comfort, he shoves the first cold finger past the Doctor’s rim. Naturally, the Doctor squirms against the protrusion, his thighs involuntary clamping inward as a ragged gasp escapes him. A wicked smile graces the Master’s face as he feels the Doctor clench around him, refusing to move this encounter any further until the Doctor calms himself. He’s not going to baby him through actions he’s already well-practiced in. 

Eventually the Doctor spreads his legs back down to the bed, giving the Master access to his body. 

“Beautiful” the Master hums with approval, watching how the Doctor’s cock twitches in anticipation. Slowly the Master begins to move his finger, pumping it backward and forwards, drawing out shallow gasps from his sensitive Doctor. Gradually he adds the second finger, stretching the Timelord’s body to accommodate him for future use. 

“Oh” his captive gasps hotly as the Master’s fingers finally hit the right spot. The Master drinks in the sight of the Doctor writhing below him with a flushed cock and a heaving chest, looking like something pulled from the most vivid of his adolescent dreams as his hands twist into the cotton sheets. His own cock twitches in lewd interest as arousal snakes its way down his spine. 

With practised ease does he pick up the pace, pressing and scissoring and pumping his fingers within the Doctor’s body, skilled in knowing how to get the body before him to shiver and shake. The Doctor responds with equal vigour, pushing back against the Master’s relentless fingers. Short, helpless gasps escape him as the Master leans against him, plunging his fingers in deep to press against the Doctor’s prostrate and burying his face against his racing jugular pulse points. 

“Come on Doctor, we still have a story to complete” he mutters, pausing his fingers to feel the muscles clench around him “what happens next?” A smile curls his lips back to reveal sharp teeth that scrape sinfully against the Doctor’s exposed neck. 

“Kiss me” the Doctor gasps, trying hard to keep the details of that night in his mind whilst the Master’s fingers push and pull at every nerve, misfiring synapses and drowning his senses. There is a small press of pursed lips against his neck in answer to the Doctor’s request. He knows that’s all he will ever get. The almost non-existent pressure of the Master’s mouth upon his heated skin is all he can expect to receive. It’s a rule under the command of no sentimentality that he has come to despise. 

The knowledge makes him yearn as the Master’s breath dances across his nape in barely controlled huffs. It makes him understand that these moments are just fleeting interactions of flesh and need. Nothing more. Nothing deeper. He wants to cry out for the Master to hold him and embrace the Master in kind. Wants to touch him and push against him and make love to him- not mimic old memories until they are spoiled like a Polaroid held up to the light. 

The rules make it cold. The rules make it cheap and dirty and business-like. The rules make him understand that these transactions are buy and sell prostitution for the price of peace and penance. 

Blankly he ignores the Master’s clothed weight upon him and thinks back to that night. The night his Koschei had pinned him to the ground and taken his pleasure so attentively. How they had both screamed at their simultaneous peak with red grass in their hair and the stars as their only witnesses. Oh how in love they were. 

“You took me in hand” the Doctor utters without even really meaning to. The memory of Koschei’s fingers wrapped around his straining length and pulling those delicious cries from between his lips just for the pure joy of it becomes so overwhelming he can’t help but share. 

Drowsily, the Master lifts his head away from the Doctor’s neck, sweat beginning to run across his brow and his fingers starting to cramp with their relentless toying of the Doctor’s nerves. Like a king observing a new member of his harem he sweeps his eyes from the Doctor’s flushed face down towards his twitching erection. It is near purple now with the swell of blood and pent up desire. He should really allow him to come. He’s been so good. So obedient to his orders and needs. Maybe he will. Most likely he won’t. 

Silently does his free hand snake down to grasp at the Doctor’s member as he sits back to survey his conquest from betwixt his spread thighs. The Doctor stutters a breath and impulsively pushes his hips up into the contact- crying out with sheer need for release. He barely notices the fingers withdraw from his body as the Master begins to draw his fist upwards. 

“What happened next, Theta?” The Master knows it’s cruel to address him like this but he’s stripped him of everything- clothes, dignity and all that comes with it. Removing his title is just another way to shove him further past the point of rationality. 

“Ooh Koschei!” The Doctor moans back in a moment of wanton confusion. His mind fluxing between the present and the past in the rapture of their molten skin. The Master feels his composure slip with the display of sheer debauchery. The Doctor’s hands clench and twist in the sheets as his abdomen begins to quiver with that telltale building of pressure. 

“Tell me what happened” the Master growls, finding an urgent need to finish this as he unzips his fly and pushes his confining trousers down past his hips. His cock bobs free lewdly, straining with the desire for the tight heat of his doctor. Giving himself a few indulgent tugs as he awaits for the Doctor’s indecent words, mixing his pre-come and last drips of saliva along his stiff cock. A mere mercy to ease his path. 

“You fucked me!” The Doctor cries in response, barely getting a moment to draw in breath as a raw, unrelenting pressure is shoved inside of him. The Master grunts with the pleasure that engulfs him, a perfect balance of the radiant heat and embrace he’s become so accustomed to. 

Not waiting for the Doctor to guide him any further through the foreplay, the Master plants one elbow against the mattress and begins to pump his hips deeper into his body of choice. The Doctor squirms and gasps beneath him as he is simply driven down into the creaking bed springs with every voracious thrust of his Master against him. He can’t breath under the pressure. The unrelenting force of the body filling him, over and over and over while he can only scramble upon the bedsheets for purchase. 

There’s still a hand around him, drawing sparks of pleasure across his skin while the Master uses him. Hard and fast. Loud and meaningless. Cold and empty. The unadulterated intensity of the fucking stopping him from reaching back to that night and matching the sensations. 

He’s going to come. He knows he is. He can’t help it. He can’t possibly try to even think about stopping as the hand around him continues to use every trick in the book to tease and tantalise. 

“Master I-“ the Doctor gasps, mouth gone dry as his body is shoved mercilessly across the bedspread. 

“Don’t you dare” he warns with a low growl, grasping the base of the Doctor’s cock firmly to stave off the man’s orgasm. He still hasn’t made up his mind as his own peak begins to churn low in his abdomen. The Doctor whines high and needy in the back of his throat with the brazen order. 

The Master continues his onslaught of the Doctor’s body, taking his pleasure with indulgent thrusts. The pace building with every stuttering gasp that passes his lip. He can feel his release building with every faltering roll of his hips, revelling in the squeeze of the Doctor around his aching flesh. 

“Tell me” the words spill out, half formed around the harsh intake of breath “Doctor, tell me how it ended” his command punctuated with another vigorous push against the Doctor’s body before withdrawing and slamming back. His toes curl with the sweet sting of building pleasure, orchestrated to the rhythm of racing heart beats. 

His Doctor gazes up at him, wide eyed and mouth parted as his lips tremble, trying to find the words. Trying to figure out the answer. Trying to push back against the Master’s invading onslaught as his mind reels and neglected cock weeps between their joined bodies. 

“Tell me Doctor!” The Master repeats with renewed force, the tight coil of pressure beginning to unwind low in his pelvis. The Doctor clamps his legs down around the Master’s body, knees knocking hips as the sensations begin to collide and mangle around each other like a car crash in slow motion. They can both feel it. The teetering edge that they race towards with every stuttering thrust and half aborted Moan of delight. 

“We came” it wasn’t a glorious cry or a sanctimonious wail- It was barely above a whisper as the revelation appeared in the forefront of his mind, almost by accident. 

Though for the Master it was like music. A whole orchestra bleeding and clashing like razor blades to guitar strings. So loud and bright and beautiful. Not even he could resist the siren call of his lover’s claim as it was gasped into his ear like poison. With a final overwhelming push of his hips, deeper into the vice-like embrace of his Doctor, he spills himself. 

The Doctor lay beneath him, twitching and squirming in such pleasure, calling the Master’s name as his own release remains just beyond his reach. Illiberally the Master grunts his triumph between their sweat slicked bodies. The sweet ringing of bliss slowly being wrung out of his coiled abdomen with every impulsive stutter of hips against groin. 

Lazily their hearts lull into a calmed tempo and their breathing eases back from heated gasps down to shy draws for air. The silence is weighted and imposing as it starts to seep in between their joined bodies. It’s unbearable. 

Gradually the Master regains enough semblance of balance to pull back, withdrawing from the Doctor’s embrace both physically and emotionally with a bitten off hiss. As if coordinated, they both come to regard the Doctor’s still unattended erection, laying defeated and unsatisfied between them. 

“Please” the Doctor whispers in a dry, raspy voice. Broken and exhausted. Pleadingly his eyes meet the Master’s steely gaze. 

“No” he states with a cold finality, taking a controlled breath through his nose. The Doctor doesn’t argue, simply laying spread eagle on the bed as the Master quietly tucks himself away, willing his need for satisfaction to cease. 

A shiver runs its icy fingers down his sweaty spine as he feels the mattress dip beneath him, making the presence of the Master’s mark of possession swill nauseously within him as the other Timelord retreats. He takes in a shallow breath and looks up from the pillows. Fingers unclenching from the bedsheets. 

The Master stands at the foot of the bed, tucking his shirt back into the waistband of his rumpled trousers, looking down at the Doctor’s sorry state. The silence curdles around them, interrupted only by their irregular breaths and the creaking of bed springs as the Doctor tries to find comfort. 

“Did you have anything planned for dinner?” The Master asks, as if they’ve been conversing over a lovely spot of evening tea. 

“No” the Doctor responds in kind, slipping back into their roles of bored jailers, passing the time with meandering conversation and verbal spats. Slowly he blinks and focuses upon the rose blush of the Master’s neck, peeking just above his fixed collar. 

“Hmm” the Master contemplates, finger upon his chin theatrically. The Doctor takes this as his cue to sit up and start rebuilding his composure. Distantly, the Master watches him slink off of the bedspread, his erection flagging between his legs as he wanders precariously toward the on-suite bathroom to wash himself of the whole exchange. 

For a moment the Master stands there, listening. He can hear the bathroom close and the shuffle of feet upon the tiles as the Doctor starts up the shower. The whole planet silent around them as they struggle through the empty routine, spinning on its axis as they skirt around one another endlessly. 

Having had enough of taking in the remains of their passion’s aftermath does the Master turn towards the door, kicking at the Doctor’s strewn clothing as he reaches the handle. Letting himself out as the Doctor stands a world away next door, cleaning himself of his touches and marks. 

Unaffected, the Master reinforces his facade once more and exits, thinking of all the possibilities dinner will bring them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! 💜💜💜


End file.
